Desperation
by H.E. Mahk
Summary: Post season 3.  Picks up right at the end of "No Old Tigers".  Everyone in the house is trying to figure out where to go from here and Mike, especially, is struggling with the stress and guilt of it all.  Will he seek help or fall back into old habits? Warnings: drug use.
**Desperation Ch. 1**

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The silence in the house was deafening. After the shocking revelation that Jakes had ran off with the nine million dollars— leaving a bloodied and bruised Johnny in his wake— everyone needed time to take in and compartmentalize the day's events. Briggs was the first to lock himself away in his room. He was the one responsible for creating all of the problems and feeling of mistrust in the house He definitely wasn't anyone's favorite right now.

Charlie took Johnny upstairs to tend to the various injuries he'd sustained at the hands of his former housemate and friend. Falling on and breaking a few dozen ornaments had given Johnny some pretty deep lacerations, probably deep enough to warrant stitches, but he wasn't in the mood to go to the hospital.

Paige, also locked in her room, had been so adamant that they start paying for their deplorable behavior: she was against Mike signing the HSI report that would dismiss any further investigation and expressed her guilt over being heavily involved in Briggs's criminal affairs. She just sat on her bed. Staring. Thinking.

Mike had changed out of his dress shirt and pants and into a t-shirt and jogger pants and was now slowly pacing back and forth in his room, running his hand through his hair. He'd been experiencing a potent amalgamation of feelings. He was angry at Briggs for causing all this disarray. He felt guilt, both for signing that fabricated report yet also for not signing it sooner which maybe would have deterred Jakes from running away. He was feeling doubt in his ability as an FBI agent. Back in the academy, he never would have imagined this is how he would operate.

In addition to this mental and emotion pain, he was also feeling physical pain in his side. Every now and then his old injury would flare up again. It had been excruciatingly painful during his detox and even for the week or so after— He found it incredibly difficult to control himself and not give in to what he knew would help. But he stayed strong and fought through the pain.

He'd been clean for about a month now and though he'd built up quit the façade that he was doing just fine, he had struggled through that month. It brought back all kinds of memories when he went back to Gusti and Madison's apartment just three days after beginning his detox. Being in that room and seeing Madison experience the pure bliss that morphine had to offer— the same morphine he'd nearly succumbed to before he saw his red birds on the fake flyers Briggs made for him— took it's toll on the young agent. But he'd made it. This night, however, was proving to be a much tougher battle.

The toxic mixture of stress, guilt, and pain boiling inside of him put him on edge. He needed to find something to focus on— he tried to read, he tried to sleep, he splashed water on his face. He even though of handcuffing himself to the bed frame again, but there was a small part of his brain— the part that wanted the pills— telling him not to. He sat down on his bed, his elbows resting on his bouncing knees, hands folded under his nose, then running through then gripping on to his hair, letting out a loud exhale. He thought to himself something he thought many times before, _I just need a little hit, just something to calm me down until this nightmare blows over, and then that's the last one_. He went over to his desk and opened the drawer that had once hid the evidence of his dirty little secret. He knew it was empty, but he couldn't help but check just to make sure. In fact, he went through all of his hiding places— his dresser, his bookshelf, his closet, leaving drawers open and cabinet doors ajar. Lastly, he scoured his bathroom but his housemates had been thorough when they confiscated any little remnant of his addiction during his detox. After scanning every inch of that small space he stopped. Defeated, he looked at himself in the mirror, studying the dark circles under his eyes, thinking _what am I doing? How did I become this. What would Charlie or Paige think? If Briggs finds out I'm gonna lose my job, I'm gonna lose everything! If I wasn't so weak— I'm pathetic!_ His anger was turning into hatred, self-hatred. He looked in the mirror and detested who he saw staring back at him— just some kid who can't even do his job right, had big dreams of success but got mixed up in drugs and nearly destroyed everything he'd worked towards. Finally beat the addiction, but here it is, threatening his hard work all over again. His rage boiled over and he threw a punch at his reflection sending a nice spider web of cracks through the glass of the mirror, which then shattered, shards falling into the sink. He was breathing heavily, he needed to calm down, he needed someone to help him calm down— someone to ground him. He started going through his options, who could he turn to:

Well definitely not Briggs. Not Johnny. Mike had been the first to find Johnny after his confrontation with Jakes and decided he was dealing with enough right now, he didn't need Mike coming in to put any more stress on him. Charlie would blame Mike for Jakes disappearance as she was strongly for Mike signing the report and making this all go away. Paige. He could go to Paige— she had supported Mike in not signing the papers, she was on his side. Despite their complicated relationship, they'd been on good terms the past few days so surely she would be there for him.

He left the mess he'd created and made his was to Paige's room. He was jittery, his fingers twitching, tapping against his leg as he arrived at her door, finding it slightly cracked. He paused, hearing voices from inside. It was Charlie. She sounded angry, upset, and she was talking to Paige. Mike didn't enter, he just leaned in closely to the crack and listened. Charlie was saying,

"—and yeah, Paul's to blame, but Mikey, he could've prevented this. We're all on the same team, if he trusted Paul, if he just had just done what he was told, Dale would still be here instead of running off to who knows where with a stolen nine mil!" Mike lowered his head, looking down at his shoes. He'd expected as much from Charlie, but it was Paige's response that hit him hard.

"Maybe, you're right." It wasn't anything harsh, but Mike's heart sank. This was the only person he thought he could reach out to turning against him. He had no one. A sharp pain struck him in his side once more. He leaned into the wall, one hand covering his scar, the other balled into a fist, nails digging into his palm so he wouldn't let out any more than a muffled groan. It was just now that he realized the damage he'd done to his hand. His knuckles were cut up and bleeding slightly— the pain of which was not helping his cause. He was desperate, he needed relief, and he only knew of one thing that would grant him that relief. He left his place just outside of Paige's room and moved hastily down the stairs, grabbing his dark blue jacket and beanie, and out the front door in search of anything that would dull his senses.

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 **Thank you so much for reading! I just discovered Graceland and wanted to expand upon Mike's struggle with addiction post detox. Please follow/fav/review and thank you again! - Cassidy  
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